


grimm encounters

by lionsenpai



Category: RWBY
Genre: Gen, Tarzan AU of Offal Hunt AU, how did ONE(1) offal hunt joke while watching tarzan with KIBITZER turn into this, what in the fuckening
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-27
Updated: 2016-06-27
Packaged: 2018-07-18 12:44:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7315693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lionsenpai/pseuds/lionsenpai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Joke fic and the reason KIBITZER and I shouldn't be allowed near Disney movies because we make too many jokes and then things get Dangerous. </p><p>More or less, Glynda just wants to go home, and Cinder just wants her to hear her heartbeat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	grimm encounters

**Author's Note:**

  * For [KIBITZER](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KIBITZER/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Offal Hunt](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5127026) by [KIBITZER](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KIBITZER/pseuds/KIBITZER), [lionsenpai](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lionsenpai/pseuds/lionsenpai). 



> i can't believe i wrote this. i can't believe i titled it grimm encounters. someone take this keyboard away from me.

Glynda hates the jungle.

The heat sticks to her back through her shirt, sweat slipping down the column of her throat while Ozpin goes on about maps and whatever flora they’re passing. It sounds very official, which she supposes she should expect from the headmaster of a prestigious university back home, but honestly -

“Are we close?” she says, not bothering to wait for the pause between one thought and the next because she knows it will never come.

“What’s that, Glynda?” he asks from somewhere behind her, not concerned in the least.

“Are we close?” she repeats, wiping her forehead with the back of her arm, sleeves rolled up well past the elbow. “To the Grimm?”

When she glances over her shoulder and catches him examining a flower and scrawling at the speed of light in his little notebook. She sighs, but turns back around, giving a sideways slash with her machete that clears away a section of growth on the jungle floor. There is more rising to take its place, not to mention the long, dangling vines from the canopy above, but she grits her teeth and moves forward.

“I’m concerned with our camp options,” she says, though she’s rather sure Ozpin isn't listening. “There aren’t many places that will have the space we need.”

Surprisingly, she does get a reply. “Worry not, Glynda. We’re heading towards a riverbed that’s sure to have better options for us. Though, it will be a shame to leave this patch of _Strelitzia reginae_ behind. Look at these blooms!”

Glynda tries her best not to sound as exasperated as she feels when she says, “Yes sir.”

For an expedition into Grimm infested territory to study creatures that could rip him apart, limb by scrawny limb, Oz is remarkably relaxed. Meanwhile, Glynda can’t stop running her thumb across the curve on the stock of her rifle.

The rustle of movement around them is constant, but she’s quite sure that the commotion they’re making should have at least warned off anything that’s willing to be warned off. Yet, the flashes of red that she can’t seem to see but from the corner of her eye make her nervous. She may not be much of a professor, but she’s seen enough Grimm to know how they hunt and move, and right now, she wants to make it to this river as soon as possible.

Carving her way through another thicket, she breaks through to a small clearing, the grass brush beaten down into ground. Glynda makes a face, her machete hanging by her side.

“Hey, Oz,” she says, strapping her rifle to her back and tugging at her collar. “Come look at this, would you?”

Among the snarls of leaves and branches, there are clumps of black fur, something she recognizes immediately. Grimm must have been in the area recently, maybe even made their nests here last night; a good sign, or at least something worth revisiting once they’ve found a place to make camp.

“Oz,” she calls again, stooping to pick up a knot of fur.

It’s long. Beowolf long maybe, but they could be looking for a jungle variant.

Oz still hasn’t answered her, so she gives a little huff of annoyance and rises to her feet, turning to give a shout to pull him from whatever plant he’s been entranced by.

A pair of red eyes meet her stare when she turns, her words dying on her lips as she feels a hot exhale right against her face.

“Oh,” she says, blinking.

Lips pull back on the Grimm, surprisingly different to those she’s seen before, and reveal rows of sharp teeth. _Those_ she’s familiar with, a part of her helpfully adds right before the Grimm gives a snarl, joined by a chorus from above.

Her eyes drift up above the Grimm, which is easily as tall as her and twice as heavy, to where others are perched in the trees above her. There are smaller ones at the almost human hands of the Grimm.

“Oh,” she says again. This isn’t an old nest. It’s very much still in use.

She turns and books it just as the jungle screams and shudders around her, a dozen or more of those climbing Grimm tearing after her. Her rifle clatters to the ground when she tries to unclip it and pull it to her chest, and she bites out a single curse before she feels the grasping hands of one of those Grimm just miss snagging her by the back of her shirt.

Glynda thinks, _this is it_ , but doesn’t have time to lament the very unimpressive way she’s going out before there’s a hand at the collar of her shirt, tugging her up, up, up -

Her feet kick for the ground, but her machete is gone too, and when she reaches up and tries to pummel the Grimm that’s snagged her, her fists beat into something that’s distinctly less _hairy_ than she expected.

She’s halfway through prying the fingers from her shirt when she notices that below them, the jungle is whizzing by, ground getting farther and farther away, the Grimm clambering just to keep up.

Then the grip on her shirt disappears, her thrashing earning a grunt from whatever carried her off - and a one way ticket to the ground below. A scream brews in her chest, but before it can escape, a blur of black swings by overhead, stealing her from midair and giving a vicious snarl. A climbing Grimm pulls her up into the joint of two part branches, snarling right in her face.

The others are closing in, but from right over the Grimm’s shoulder, a flash of red rounds the tree, flying through the air, and it’s coming right for them and somehow remarkably _human_ -

Two feet plant onto the back of the Grimm’s broad shoulders, knocking it right from the tree and knocking Glynda right from its grasp. Before she can feel her stomach jump into her ribcage at the fall, there’s a hand finding her belt, pulling her along through the air. She gives a yelp of fright, the jungle floor racing by beneath her, but some sense makes her turn, glance over her shoulder and get a good look at her captor - _savior_?

A slip of a woman is above her clutching a vine, skin darkened by the sun, a tangle of black hair whipping in the wind. On her head, a crown of horns, ivory and crimson, and along her surprisingly thin arms and torso, a myriad of red lines drawn in different patterns.

For such a little thing to have the strength to carry Glynda so effortlessly -

They reach the arc of their swing and when the woman tries to catch another, she underestimates their momentum, or maybe doesn’t account for Glynda’s weight. Either way, they drop, breaking branches and vines on their descent until, with only moments left until impact, the woman manages to snag another vine.

It sends them dancing just over the jungle floor, spiralling around the tree that anchors the vine, and Glynda kicks, twisting in the woman’s grip until she can catch a glimpse of her face.

Teeth gritting, cheeks red from exertion; maybe it’s only luck that’s kept Glynda from dropping to the ground below.

Glynda’s pulse wails in her ears, especially when she turns back to look to at what’s behind them, still being dragged along by her belt. Climbing Grimm leap and swing between trees in hot pursuit, getting closer with each passing second.

Ducking her head and looking between her knees in the direction they’re going, she gasps. The trees are thinning, open air waiting for them, but the woman doesn’t seem to care.

“Hey!” she tries to shout, but it’s too late.

The treeline whizzes by as they fly through the air, swinging out over a sheer drop into what looks like a river below. Glynda’s voice catches in her throat, sure they’re going to drop, but instead, they seem to reach the end of their vine, arcing out over the drop but sure to be pulled back to the safety of the trees.

The climbing Grimm are hot on their heels, and Glynda feels herself smile, finally understanding. Pull them out toward the drop off and hope they fall into the water below. A survivable drop, but one that’s sure to lose them.

At least, that’s what she thinks until she feels the woman above her let go of her belt.

All the fright building in her escapes in a single, long scream as she plummets into the water below. The woman above rides the vine around, swinging back into the jungle, and then Glynda hits the water like an anchor, water filling her nose.

She thrashes and kicks, fighting to find the surface, but the current is swift, and she’s just able to snatch a breath before she’s pulled under again. Down the river she goes, twisting in the water when she surfaces again, unable to fight her way out of the rushing waters.

It carries her past the sheer face of rock, the climbing Grimm all gathered at the edge high above, watching her go. It carries her past more gradual inclines, still just as rocky. Finally, it carries her over a short drop, plopping her into a deep watering hole and scaring off some of the more skittish fauna drinking at its edge.

She sputters and coughs, going straight for the shore, and as soon as she feels the muddy lake bottom beneath her feet, she drags herself onto land, flopping onto the ground.

Glynda takes deep breaths, feeling like she’s just run a thousand miles, and wipes the water from her face and pushes her soaked hair back from her eyes. Weakly, she gives a little shuddering wheeze and squints up at the blue sky, sorely missing her glasses.

She decides: yes, she _absolutely_ hates the jungle.

Then something tan and black blocks out her view of the sky.

Glynda bites out a curse and scrambles until the water laps at her knees, hands digging into the soft mud, hair falling into her face, coming eye to eye with the woman for the first time.

She’s wiry, more than Glynda first thought, but her face is all soft, golden eyes flickering over every part of Glynda as she creeps forward just like - just like those climbing Grimm. She’s only her feet and knuckles, and when she advances, Glynda holds her ground. At least until a hand hard with callous touches her hair, pulling at the strands none-too-gently.

“No,” Glynda says, swatting the hand away and straightening somewhat, leaning back on her heels when the woman isn’t dissuaded. “Um.”

Her eyesight isn’t the best, but the woman doesn’t seem to have a concept of personal space, following Glynda into the water without hesitation, so it’s easy to take her in. She’s making these noises, something that could maybe be called hoots, but more importantly, Glynda realizes, she’s almost completely _nude_.

Red lines which could be tattoos are the only things she wears on her skin, nothing but a strip of red fabric around her waist, but the woman seems less perturbed by her own state of undress than Glynda, who finds herself staring down someone in an honest-to-god loincloth.

Turning away to afford her some semblance of decency only results in the woman taking Glynda’s face in both hands and pulling her back, startling close, touching Glynda’s brow, her nose, mapping out her face with her hands.

Glynda recoils at last, taking the woman by the wrists and pushing her back, trying to school her tone into disapproval. “That’s enough of that.”

But the woman doesn’t balk, just gets distracted by Glynda’s hands, pulling her own away so she can take one of Glynda’s between them. She runs her fingers over the knuckles, presses her thumb into the center of her palm, and while she’s getting cozy with Glynda’s hand, Glynda is exhaling sharply between her teeth.

“I don’t appreciate being dropped like that,” she says, watching as the woman lines their hands up, fascinated by the picture of them side by side, a strange kind of realization dawning on her face.

Glynda tries not to notice, looking over that head of black hair to the jungle beyond and trying to figure out how she’s going to get back, but in the next moment, the woman is drawing closer still, not stopping until her ear and horns are pressed right to Glynda’s chest.

“Or the lack of _personal space_ ,” she says, pushing the woman back and feeling a slight flush rising along her neck. “Just - stay there a moment, I need to think.”

There’s a moment where it seems like the woman is listening, and Glynda manages to to get to one foot before hands find her face again, pulling her down to her knees and holding her head right against the woman’s chest. Glynda finds herself right between her breasts, a steady thrum of blood adding deeper shades to her cheeks.

She’s at an angle that her back severely protests, her hands digging into the lake’s soft bottom, but Glynda freezes.

“Uh,” she says, hearing the thunderclap beat of the woman’s heart in her chest. “Yes, very nice.”

The woman’s breasts are soft on either side of her head, and Glynda clarifies,  “Y-your heartbeat. Your heartbeat is very nice. Um.”

Glancing up, she notices the woman is looking down at her with a mix of expectancy and concern, those impressive horns framing her face. Quite clearly, she’s expecting something from Glynda, and Glynda, tired and wet and more than a little out of her depth here, gives an attempt at a smile.

What the _fuck_ is happening in this jungle.

 

**Author's Note:**

> STUPID TARZAN AU FOR OFFAL HUNT AU BECAUSE RONTRA MADE ART!!!!! CAN YOU FUCKING BELIEVE THIS!!!!!!!!!!!
> 
>  
> 
> [ART!!!!!!!!!!!](http://lionsenpai.tumblr.com/post/146521861023/rontra-i-just-watched-tarzan-for-the-first)
> 
>  
> 
> (also the captions in tarzan said the gorilla noises were hooting so cinder's hooting why the fuck not lmao)


End file.
